


Birthmarks

by librarybooks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Fluff, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, dark marks soulmate au, hehe recently edited and reposted, i would die for iwaoi probably, iwa r u a monkey, iwaoi - Freeform, kinda pure also a little angst, more like poetic 6 year olds, oikawa's parents kinda suck, there's NO abuse, there's some volleyball, very very very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarybooks/pseuds/librarybooks
Summary: The marks were on your skin when you were born - this was something everyone knew. For some, the marks were a blessing; for others, a curse. Tooru's marks were dark and oddly placed, bruises that promised violence. Given their shape and location, no one had ever suspected that it could actually lead to a friendly encounter. Now really, how was he supposed to know?After all, Tooru was only six years old when he met Hajime.





	Birthmarks

The marks were on your skin when you were born - this was something everyone knew.

They were all the same color: variations of black and blue, tattooed bruises smattered across the skin of everyone on the planet. They came in all shapes and sizes, much like the people they adorned. Hand prints, fingertips, a light dusting of darkness on one’s knuckles; wherever they were, they meant the same thing. They remained on your skin, impossible to remove, a stain - until the moment you met them. Until the moment they touched you.

For some, the marks were a blessing. For others, a curse; but no matter a person’s luck, the marks meant something.

Soulmates seemed a fickle thing. The “perfect someone” for everyone - a pretty idea, utopian in concept, but it was true. Everyone had a soulmate, a societal rule that ran within their DNA. And the moment they touched you, you were supposed to know.

There was no explosion of feeling, of tingles or fireworks, but the darkness faded. The blueish blush that marred your skin since the moment of your birth - it disappeared, healed like a bruise, dissolving into nothingness as if it had never been. The mark fled from your skin, from that person’s touch. And when you brushed against them, their marks faded, too.

There were an unlucky few who didn’t notice. Perhaps they were in the middle of doing something mundane, like getting coffee, and their hand brushed the cashier’s. Suddenly, their fingers are flushed, the baby pink of a newborn, but the chaos of the everyday is far more interesting than the color of their fingertips. They don’t see it happen.

At the end of the day, they stare at their unmarred skin and wonder when the marks left. A tragedy in the modern age, to know you’ve met them and they quite literally slipped through your fingers.

Sometimes, the ebbing of the marks was obvious. It happens unexpectedly, like when someone trips, and a stranger reaches out to steady them. They grab their hand, and the marks are suddenly gone. They both see it, inhaling sharply, the air fraught with tension; an unusual sort of embarrassment blossoms, similar to admitting to your crush that you like them, or to being caught doing something you shouldn’t have. This person is supposed to be your other half, and they know it, too.

In the end, most were happy.

Some toiled with fate - a schoolgirl brushing her hand against the arm of a popular boy, because she heard a rumor that his mark was fingertips on his forearm. Maybe, she thought, there was a chance that they were hers.

It was a common sort of ideology, to make your destiny your own and to pull the strings of fate, but fate could not be forced.

Some wore makeup to cover theirs, treating them like blemishes as they grew older and still, the marks did not fade. And although these marks were supposed to be the place where one’s soulmate touches them for the first time, although they were supposed to signify the promise of something more, they were not always beautiful.

Some wore handprints on their cheeks, darkness on their knuckles, or circular bruises that could only be fists; others, marks on their neck, on other… Less modest parts of the body. And perhaps it’s not unusual that paranoia could be borne of these fears, but it never occurred to some that maybe, the handprint was a gentle caress, or the marks on their necks simply strokes from a strange lover, taken with a few drinks from the bar.

These fears were not unfounded, though. Soulmates, you see, were not always perfectly matched. There is disunity in the universe and strain even in love. While many are fortunate when it comes to their fated pair, there are a few who are not.

And so it was from Oikawa Tooru’s birth, from when the doctor lifted him and snipped his umbilical cord, that everyone believed his soulmate would be the latter.

From this sprung fear, raw and powerful in the way only a parent could worry for their child - and so it could be said that Tooru’s parents were a bit overprotective. He was raised to be cautious, to be aware. He couldn’t play roughly with other children, couldn’t play team sports, couldn’t, couldn’t, _couldn’t_. He was left to his own devices, in a heavily surveilled backyard with just his volleyball to keep him company.

Tooru was taught to treat his mark like a handicap. He knew it was larger than others, darker. He hated the sight of it, all black and blotchy, his permanent bruise. He knew the spot was unusual, and what it probably meant. The spread of it across his little stomach and chest was a painful reminder that one day, he would be hurt. One day, he would be kicked, or punched, or assaulted in some way; and on that day, he would find his mate, but he would not find happiness.

Nobody had ever told Tooru that he could’ve imagined a different future for himself, one in which he didn’t have to subscribe himself to a lifetime of pain and disappointment. No one had ever predicted that the two footprints burned into his chest could actually turn out to be a friendly encounter. Now really, who would’ve suspected that?

How was he supposed to know? After all, Tooru was only six years old when he met Hajime.

~

Waves of heat shimmered above the pavement, rising like the flames of a house fire. The blacktop in his backyard attracted the warmth, reflecting it back on Tooru’s skin. It _burned_.

Tooru bounced his volleyball, once, twice, and felt the heat sap the energy from his limbs. He held his juicebox to his lips and slurped, aggressive in his thirst.

“Another heat wave,” the meteorologists had said. Tooru overheard his parents talking about it. “The hottest summer on record. Dangerous. Hydrate.”

The entire Miyagi prefecture was advised to stay cool and drink lots of fluids. Tooru had taken the advice to heart, sucking on his sixth juice box that day. It was quiet outside; the towns had shut down in their own, lazy summer way. Stores were still open, and people went to work, but the majority of the population had settled in to enjoy the luxuries of modern cooling systems.

Tooru was not one of them.

It was hot enough to melt the skin off his bones, but Tooru didn’t like staying inside. He felt trapped there, a caged bird. But today…  It was sweltering, mind-numbing heat, the kind that left Tooru’s popsicles melting off their sticks and Tooru himself feeling that maybe, for once, staying in the house was a good idea.

The neighborhood buzzed with cicadas in the trees, the occasional hum of a car rushing by. The sunlight was harsh, blistering on the skin. It was the kind of afternoon that made one vaguely consider up and moving to a cooler climate, like Antarctica, maybe, or Greenland. At least Tooru’s popsicles wouldn’t melt so quickly there.

Despite the relentless glare of the sun, the tempting sound of the air conditioning unit working in his house, Tooru bounced his volleyball off of his backyard fence, occasionally stopping to wipe his hands on his shirt. Rivulets of sweat poured off his skin, soaking through his clothes and making him feel sticky. He frowned at the way his volleyball slid out of his damp palms.

It wasn’t that Tooru cared about sweating; he was a six year-old boy, after all, and he had the kind of stamina that only graced children under the age of ten - the kind that allowed kids to play from morning until night without so much as a juice box to replenish their energy.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t go for another juice, though. His own now-empty box lay on the ground, crumpled and forgotten. The jingly tune of an ice cream truck sounded not far off, but Tooru couldn’t place its location. He sighed.

It could be said that Oikawa Tooru was a bit lonely.

He tossed his volleyball again, but this time, he didn’t bother to catch it. It bounced off the ground and rolled over towards the only tree in his yard, coming to a stop only when it touched the trunk. Tooru watched the ball for a moment before he went to retrieve it.

The huge tree sat on the border between his house and their neighbor’s. A fence ran down the length of their yards, stopping just before the tree bridged them. Although it was technically shared, Tooru had always thought of it as his.

Besides, as far as Tooru had known, the neighbor’s house had been empty for some time. There were no other kids for him to play with - not that his parents would let him - and no other people around, so he had laid claim to it.

The tree shadowed half of his yard, and when he reached the shade, Tooru felt significantly cooler. Instead of picking up his ball, he flopped down next to it and stared wistfully into the sky. It was an unbroken pane of blue, devoid of even clouds to study.

Tooru was bored.

Despite the freedom that came with summer and sun, there was nothing to do. Too hot to play volleyball, too hot for popsicles. Tooru clenched his grubby hands, toying with his t-shirt. It hiked up, revealing a patch of the darkness on his abdomen.

At the very least, he had wanted to see clouds. Big, charming, fluffy clouds that looked like rabbits or aliens, not the blanket-like stratus clouds that were positively not charming at all, or the wispy white streaks he saw now.

A breeze stirred the branches high above, streams of light filtering through the leaves. Tooru squinted against the sudden brightness and closed his eyes. Shadows danced behind his lids, flitting birds and shifting tree branches. He sighed.

It wasn’t that Tooru didn’t understand why his parents were overprotective. He knew it was probably for the best, but he was still a kid - a smart one, but a child nonetheless. He wanted to play with the other children, the ones with more “normal” marks. His isolation left him in a perpetual state of anxiety, a social leper.

The one to unmark him… Who could it be? Why would they hurt him? Tooru thought you were supposed to love your soulmate, not leave blueish black bruises across their broken frame. It could happen anywhere, any time, and he’d have no control over how it happened.

The leaves in the tree whispered, twigs snapping as some animal scampered through the branches. A larger shadow passed behind Tooru’s closed eyes - a cloud?

He quickly opened them, scanning the sky beyond for the telltale fluffy whiteness. Instead, when his lids cracked open, he flinched. Leaning down, in one of the lower hanging branches, was a monkey.

No. Tooru blinked, rubbed his eyes, reopened them. He saw a face, a human one, dangling just above his forehead. Another kid.

Tooru had never seen him before.

The boy’s mouth was a flat line, not critical but contemplative; his roundish cheeks were smudged with dirt, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors, catching bugs or climbing in trees. A leaf stuck haphazardly in his hair, spiky and dark and unruly as the boy himself appeared. He had a stern brow, for a child, although he looked to be about Tooru’s age, and his dark eyes were wide - with curiosity or surprise, Tooru didn’t know. Perhaps a bit of both.

Tooru registered this with some annoyance. If anything, he was the one who should be surprised; there was some strange, rabid child in his tree, and he wasn’t supposed to spend a lot of time with other kids, but this one was quite literally hanging in his face like nobody’s business -

“Why are you laying on the ground?”

The boy’s voice. It rang out unexpectedly clear, carrying a lilt that conveyed only confusion.

The sound of it, completely new to Tooru, sent a strange shiver through him. He squirmed under the other boy’s gaze and rubbed his arms, dispelling the goosebumps that had appeared. Tooru swallowed his earlier annoyance and blinked.

“Because it’s hot out.”

The boy seemed to consider this for longer than Tooru thought necessary, but eventually he just nodded and once again situated himself on his branch. “It’s cooler up here.”

There was a beat of silence, and Tooru opened his mouth again. “It’s not a good idea to climb up there. You could fall and get hurt.”

The boy gave Tooru an odd look. “Says who?”

Tooru wrinkled his nose. “Says my parents. And why are you in my tree, anyway?”

“ _Your_ tree?” The boy scoffed, plucking a leaf and dropping it. It drifted and spiraled slowly, eventually settling on Tooru’s chest. “This is my tree. At least, half of it is.”

Tooru knit his brows and scrambled into a sitting position. Half? Then that means - “You’re our neighbor?”

The boy shrugged. He dropped another leaf.

Tooru’s eyes narrowed. He brushed the offending bits of nature off of his chest, speaking slowly. “I didn’t know we had a neighbor.”

Another careless jerk of his shoulders. “Neither did I. We just moved in.”

Tooru scrunched up his face, contemplating this information. If he had a new neighbor, and another kid to play with - a new kid, who didn’t know about the placement of his marks or how weird his parents were - well, his parents didn’t really have to know, did they?

Excitement rippled through him at the prospect. Tooru could keep a secret, except they’d see him playing with someone else in the backyard, and he couldn’t very well leave the yard, but -

“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Tooru blinked back to reality and tossed his gaze to the boy - Hajime - in the tree. He stood. “I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

Hajime inclined his head, and a boyish grin spread across his face. “Tooru-kun. Sorry for stealing half of ‘your’ tree. You wanna play with me?”

Tooru paused. He felt his heart skip, and a series of memories flashed through his head: the marks, the constant caution, having lonely recess at school. Always careful, never playing, little to no friends - Tooru didn’t like it. He didn’t want to watch for fluffy clouds, or bounce his volleyball against a fence that could hardly spike for him. He made up his mind quickly, threw up his fists and grinned. “Yeah! Let’s play!”

“Then come up!” Hajime offered a hand that Tooru was a bit too short to reach, and Tooru, most fear forgotten jumped for the branch. He missed, and Hajime laughed. “Come on, you’re not even trying.”

Tooru jumped once more, missing the branch by a hair. Again. _Again._

“This isn’t fair,” Tooru huffed, crossing his arms after his tenth failed attempt. He glared up at the tree, as if it were responsible. He was simply too small. “Why don’t you just come down?”

“Don’t wanna.” Hajime tilted his head, unbothered by the incessant shaking of the tree limb. “I like it up here.”

Tooru resigned himself to standing beneath Hajime. He mimicked his pose, eyebrows slanting dramatically. “Well, I’ve never climbed a tree before, so can’t we do something else?”

“You-” Hajime laughed boyishly. “I can’t believe you’ve never climbed a tree.”

Tooru’s mouth flattened into a flat line. “Don’t laugh.”

Hajime chuckled again. He shifted, balancing on his branch in a way that made Tooru’s gut twist nervously. “Okay. Something else. Something else like what?”

“Uh, something like...” Tooru glanced around the yard, eyes alighting upon his forgotten volleyball. He lifted it and bounced it in his hands. “Why don’t we play volleyball instead?”

Hajime froze, eyes zeroing in on the ball. “You like volleyball too?”

Tooru almost dropped it. He never had the chance to play with another kid, let alone one that was interested in the same sport. “You mean you’ve played before?”

Hajime leaned forward, his perch precarious, eyes aglow. “Yeah! I play with my friends all the time - or I mean, I did.” His expression dimmed. “But we moved, so…”

It was quiet for a moment. A bird chirped. Tooru tossed the volleyball into the air, just by Hajime’s hands. “Hajime-chan!”

Hajime caught it. He wrinkled his nose. “‘Chan’?”

Tooru smiled, wordless, and gestured to his yard. _Come down!_

Hajime scowled. “I can’t believe you called me ‘Hajime-chan.’”

Tooru tilted his head. His smile was a disarming one, as he was a pretty little boy, but Hajime seemed immune. “Hajime-chan,” He repeated, relishing the sound of someone else’s name on his tongue, besides the usual ‘mom,’ ‘dad,’ or ‘sister.’ “I’ll play volleyball with you.”

“You’ll…” Hajime looked at the ball, then at Tooru. The curve of his frown tilted upwards. “Okay.”

“But,” Tooru held out his hands, and Hajime tossed the ball back to him. “You have to come down.”

The branch groaned, twigs snapping, as Hajime leaned forward. “Your side or mine?”

“Mine-”

A shout rang out from across Hajime’s yard. Both boys turned to look, Hajime struggling to shift while settled in the tree.

“Hajime! Come inside, will you?” The voice was distant, but the speaker sounded expectant. Tooru looked at Hajime.

“Oh,” The boy in the tree slumped. “That’s my mom.”

Tooru frowned, rolling the volleyball in his hands. “You gotta go?”

Hajime eyed the ball wistfully. “Yeah.”

“Okay, Ha-chan.” Tooru’s lip settled into a telltale pout, but he kept his voice light. “Can you come over again?”

“Don’t call me Ha-chan,” he warned, shifting so that he was standing on his branch. “But if you’ll share the tree, then yeah, I think I can.”

Tooru smiled, delighted despite Hajime’s immediate departure. “Ha-chan is a nice name for a selfish kid.”

“You’re the selfish one, stupid,” Hajime snorted. He reached for a branch closer to his side of the tree.

“It’s hard to share what’s rightfully mine,” Tooru sighed, “But I like you, so I’ll share with you.”

Hajime’s mouth twisted, as if he were about to say something else, but his mother called his name again. He turned away from Tooru and slung through the branches of the tree with surprising grace. Through the wire of their shared fence, Tooru saw Hajime turn and wave over his shoulder.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Bye, Tooru-kun.”

Tooru tucked the volleyball under his arm and threw his new friend a winning smile. He raised his arm and waved back. “See you, Hajime-chan! Bye bye!”

~

Tooru waited under their tree.

Hajime had lived in the house next door for a month now. Their friendship had blossomed quickly, as childhood friendships do. A routine had formed between the pair.

Neither had set foot in the other’s yard. Tooru, afraid of his parents, afraid of many things he wasn’t willing to admit, kept to his side of the fence. But Hajime, he climbed the tree, and with Tooru at the base, they told stories. They teased each other. They laughed. Sometimes, if Tooru was lucky enough to stay out late, they watched the sky for UFOs.

Hajime thought this was particularly stupid, but he never left.

By either unspoken consent or the luxury of being carefree, they did not talk about their marks. Tooru didn’t actually know where Hajime’s were, despite all the running and climbing he had witnessed the other boy do. Hajime had seen Tooru’s - more than once, probably - whenever they played, as Tooru’s shirt had a tendency to ride up and display the marks for all the world to see.

The first time Hajime saw, he had only squinted vaguely and turned back to spiking the volleyball. Tooru had been frightened of Hajime’s reaction, but the one time he broached the subject, Hajime had only shrugged. “Everybody has them,” and that was that. Tooru appreciated it.

Hajime was the first to treat Tooru without the fragility he received from everyone else. His marks weren’t a death sentence - they were just marks, but only with Hajime did Tooru feel like an ordinary kid. He offered no crutches for Tooru to carry some nonexistent handicap, and steadily, the two found solidarity in volleyball and their shared affinity for the old tree, standing proud between their properties like a legendary guardian.

When either child wasn’t home, they left notes in the little hollow at the base of their tree. It was something Tooru had started, naturally, but Hajime had quickly picked it up and used it to his advantage. His notes usually said something along the lines of, “stupid Tooru,” and “come home before I peg you with your own volleyball.”

They were written in barely-legible chicken scratch, mean and teasing and strictly Hajime-chan’s brand of friendship, but Tooru always laughed and collected them with a genuine smile.

Although they’d grown much closer, the two couldn’t do much besides talk and toss back and forth over the fence. Tooru refused to climb the tree, because despite Hajime’s creepy dexterity in the branches, he didn’t trust himself not to fall. Besides, if his parents saw, they would never let him go outside alone again. It wasn’t a risk Tooru was willing to take.

His parents had seen Hajime before, noticed him spiking over their fence with their son in pursuit, but they had allowed it. After all, the neighbor boy had stayed on his side. It was a shaky arrangement, but one that Tooru was incredibly grateful for.

Now, Tooru stood beneath the tree, expecting Hajime-chan because his terrible excuse of a friend had promised to come but was taking so long -

A sharp rap on the top of his skull knocked Tooru out of his reverie. He squawked an “ouch” as the offender - a chestnut - bounced to the ground beside him. He slapped a hand to the newly formed bump on his head before glancing up to give the tree an accusatory glare.

There, on the lowest hanging branch, sat Hajime.

“Oi, stupid-kun,” Hajime said by way of greeting. He aimed a half-hearted kick at Tooru’s head, but he ducked. “Hey.”

A breeze ruffled through the tree, still vibrant with summer green, although it was riddled with snapped twigs from Hajime’s relentless climbing. It was too pretty, Tooru thought, to deserve such abuse from Ha-chan. Not unlike Tooru himself.

It took Tooru a moment to gather his bearings. Hajime-chan wouldn’t hurt him for real, but he still sputtered as he squinted at his friend in the tree. “‘Hey’?” Tooru repeated, rubbing the spot where the chestnut made contact. “What do you mean ‘ _hey_ ’?!”

“What do _you_ mean?” Hajime cocked his head. “I meant what I said. Hey.”

“Don’t be so aggressive.” Tooru stomped his foot, indignant. “You’re such a jerk, Hajime-chan.”

“That’s a big word. Where’d you learn it?”

Tooru scowled. “Shut up. What kind of person beats their best friend with a chestnut?”

Hajime’s eyes glazed over as he contemplated this. “A person who wants a new best friend.”

“Mean, Hajime-chan. Always so mean.” Tooru stuck out his lower lip. It trembled, just a bit, and a modicum of guilt flashed in Hajime’s eyes.

“I’m not,” Hajime puffed up his chest, indifference replaced with defensiveness. The movement shook the branch below him. “I’m only mean because I like you.”

“Whatever,” Tooru crossed his arms.

“Come _on_ , Tooru,” Hajime’s tone changed, became softer. “It’s nice out. Let’s play.”

Tooru shook his head. Another breeze whispered through the branches above, stirring birds and other tree-dwelling creatures on the higher limbs. “No.”

Although Tooru wasn’t inclined to give Hajime the satisfaction, it was a beautiful day; the sun was shining, but it wasn’t popsicle-melting heat, there were fluffy clouds today, and of course, Hajime was here, so it was good.

Despite this relative air of tranquility, Tooru still frowned, resolute in his stubbornness.

“Tooru.” Hajime sighed. He clasped his hands in a patient, adult-like way. “My mom says that when you make ugly faces, your face will stay that way.”

Tooru’s expression fell. He blinked, once, twice, and adopted the scowl again. “That doesn’t make any sense,” He stuck out his tongue. “That’s idiot logic. Idiot Ha-chan.”

“Don’t call me ‘Ha-chan,’” Hajime narrowed his eyes, swaying on his branch as he lifted his hand. He pointed a very much non-threatening little finger at his friend. “I don’t like it. It’s lame.”

“I don’t care if it’s lame. The name matches the person, anyways.” Tooru crossed his arms, chubby and petulant. “I’ll call you whatever I want to call you.”

Hajime released a frustrated sigh. “You’re a brat, Tooru, really.”

While Tooru pouted beneath him, Hajime swayed again. Releasing his grip on his branch had left him unsteady. He reached a little calloused hand to the trunk to maintain his balance, but his hold on the limb had already faltered. The weight of gravity tugged at him, teasing him.

“Hey, I might need to climb down.” Hajime put both of his hands on the tree trunk. “Wait - Tooru! Help me. I think I’m gonna fall.”

Tooru spun on his heel and began pacing beneath the tree. “I’m not talking to you!” He shut his eyes and covered his ears, pretending to ignore Hajime’s words. “ _La la laaa_ , I can’t hear you, _la laaa~._ ”

Hajime fumbled with his footing, trying to pull himself up. “No, Tooru, seriously, I think I’m about to-”

“ _La la laaaaa~_.”

Hajime reached for another branch, but it broke off the tree with a loud snap. He released an uncharacteristic squawk as he lost his balance completely. Gravity won, and Hajime tumbled to the ground below.

It wasn’t a big drop, not really. High enough to crack an egg from, definitely high enough to bruise; if they were really unlucky, the height was maybe enough to break a bone, given that they were children and while resilient, children are quite soft. As it turned out, though, Hajime was the fortunate one.

He didn’t have to bear the sudden weight of a 50-pound six-year-old barreling into his chest, or the crack of his head in the dirt as the ground came rushing up to meet him. No, it was far worse for Tooru, whom despite his stubbornness would’ve forgiven Hajime eventually for the chestnut incident, though perhaps not for this.

The pair was sprawled on the ground, stunned into silence as their brains caught up with the events that had just occurred.

Tooru tried to sit up and found Hajime squatting on his chest like some cheap superhero with poor aim. Hajime’s feet sat square on his abdomen, bracing for an impact that probably would’ve twisted his ankles if Tooru hadn’t broken the fall.

 _You’re welcome,_ Tooru thought, dazed, before his emotions caught up to him. His chest surged with rage and just a bit of embarrassment at having ignored Hajime’s warning.

His first words are labored, huffing breaths, but they conveyed the same amount of anger and chagrin that he felt. “You- you fell on me!”

Hajime was incoherent as he stared at the positioning of his feet, blinking. At the sound of Tooru’s voice, his gaze snapped up, cheeks flushing a violent shade of red. “I tried to warn you! It was an accident, you stupid, I didn’t mean-”

Tooru flapped his arms and released a chorus of indistinct whines. “It hurts! Hajime-chan, you’re mean! You’re a jerk, get off me!”

Hajime scowled, but his eyes were painted with guilt. He awkwardly shifted, throwing himself to the side and tumbled into the dirt, glaring at his friend despite his injuries. “Shut up, Tooru-kun, I said I was sorry!”

Tooru continued to warble.

Fate, you see, is a funny creature. It is said that there is design in all things, that there are no accidents, only fate, misnamed. This is true, because in this world or the next, or any in between, fate rang true. Hajime and Tooru would find each other, would always find each other, because they were meant to.

Fate goes uncrowned, unnoticed, and sometimes, unnamed; yet it is and was ever-present, as real as the oxygen they breathe.

It was fate that marked them, but it was also fate that took those marks away. Their bruises faded as the two boys sat beside each other, tired and sore. Their skin was dirtied, but it also glowed: vivid, rosy and alive.

Tooru didn’t notice at first. It was an inconvenient location for birthmarks, really. He didn’t go around lifting his shirt in public, because it was unnecessary and why would he show them off, anyway?

Distracted as he was with his complaining, it was Hajime who inhaled sharply, pointed at the sliver of skin at Tooru’s midriff. For the first time since Tooru had met him, Hajime openly stared at his marks. “Look - Tooru, _look_.”

Tooru gave him a rude look. “Ha-chan, I don’t like it when-”

“Shut up and look!”

Tooru looked down, his face flushed, but his anger was quickly replaced by surprise. The squishy flesh of his abdomen - perpetually dark, black and bruised since birth - was blooming a soft pink. Stunned, Tooru tore up the hem of his shirt, staring in wonder as the darkness swirled and evaporated, winking out of existence like a fading star.

The realization came to him somewhat belatedly; it was the first time that he and Hajime had actually touched. They’d passed the volleyball, thrown things at each other, but there had been no prior skin to skin contact.

Hajime blinked, once, twice. His pupils grew large as he came to the same conclusion as Tooru, and his gaze then flicked down to his legs as he realized what this must mean for him.

In a flurry, Hajime kicked off his sneakers and peeled off his socks. He thrust them aside unceremoniously, revealing the completely black soles of his feet. Watching him, Tooru released a shaky breath.

If Hajime had been more of a feral child, perhaps, his marks could be mistaken for several layers of unwashed dirt. But no, Hajime was well taken care of, if a little scruffy, and the reality was confirmed as the soles of his feet flickered between the darkness of his birthmarks and the warm brown of his natural skin tone.

Tooru tentatively poked his now-pinkish stomach. It… Burned, and it was sore, but Tooru assumed that this was simply a result of Hajime’s earlier weight on his chest. Tears leapt to his eyes unbidden, and he released a wail of such profound relief that Hajime clapped his hands over his ears.

“Hey, _hey,_ you idiot, you’re so loud,” but Hajime was crying too. Because of his newfound soulmate’s tears, maybe, or because his own birthmarks were dissolving before his eyes.

They were young, then - a bit too young to understand the magnitude of their matching, what it meant for their future. But in that moment, despite their tears, they knew that what they felt within was good. It was _right_. They were happy, drawing one another into a tight embrace as they wept.

Tooru’s panicked parents would find them there, having sprinted to the sound of their child in pain. Tooru and Hajime bawled beneath the tree, dusty, but with skin blemishless as cream.

The marks were gone.

**.  .  .**

 

Oikawa Tooru had been called many things since becoming the captain of the Aobajōsai volleyball club, but until now, no one had actually compared him to the _akuma_.

There was a first time for everything, Hajime supposed.

It was only natural that jealousy would blind their opponents, especially when faced with Tooru’s killer serve, but the nickname _‘akuma’_? ...Well, that was a little much, even for Hajime. While he was inclined to agree that Tooru had a terrible personality - even after 11 years he was still a stubborn, warbling brat - he didn’t think it warranted a comparison to the devil.

It was the during the last set, advantage: Seijō. Tooru was up to serve, much to the dismay of the opposing team. They weren’t weak rivals, that was certain, but neither were they up to par with Seijō’s overall strength and coordination. They lacked the togetherness that comes with working with someone for a long time; Hajime understood this more than most.

Tooru’s serve at match point decided the game, and as they lined up to shake hands, the other team’s libero muttered something under his breath - something that strung “Oikawa,” and “ _akuma_ ,” in the same sentence.

Talk about sore losers - not that Oikawa himself was much better, but that wasn’t the issue.

Usually this sort of comparison would please Tooru to some degree, as he relished in the frustration of the opposing team, but it was the magnitude of the insult that got to him. Really, ‘ _akuma_ ’? ‘Jerk,’ would’ve sufficed. Tooru would probably even settle for “pompous asshole,” but the _devil_?

Hajime knew that Tooru liked the sound of being called a ‘superhuman’ on the court, but otherworldly nicknames were uncalled for, unless they referred to aliens.

After showering and changing in the locker room, Tooru, ever the petulant child, was still pouting. Hajime silently cursed the opposing team’s libero; now he’d have to spend the greater part of the afternoon consoling his partner. He often wondered if he had disgraced some god in his past life to be burdened with such a soulmate.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru sniffed, grasping Hajime’s shoulder. It was near sunset now, and they were walking home from school with their volleyball duffels slung over their shoulders. Hajime looked at him.

A breeze ruffled Tooru’s perfectly quaffed locks. He still wore the flush of victory in his cheeks, although it was accompanied by a frown. “Am I really satanic?”

Hajime tried to stifle his smile - he knew Tooru wouldn’t appreciate it. A rush of affection for the young man ran through him. Even after several years together, Hajime veered between wanting to kiss and wanting to punch Tooru - he wasn’t entirely sure how he could love and dislike someone so much at the same time. “Extremely so.”

Tooru gasped, his hand flying to his mouth. Hajime rolled his eyes, moving forward as his soulmate pretended to be mortally wounded.

“Why, Iwa-chan?! Why would you say that?”

In the years since their matching, Tooru’s arsenal of nicknames for Hajime had only grown. With some of the newer additions, Hajime found himself missing when Tooru would call him “Ha-chan.”

This revelation was somewhat unsettling.

 _I must be a masochist_ , Hajime thought, running his hand through his hair.

Tooru’s whining sliced through Hajime’s thoughts like a well-honed katana. “I don’t get it! Why?”

Hajime sighed, eyes sweeping over his partner, impassive. “Because you’re absolutely insufferable.”

“Wh-” Tooru huffed and crossed his arms. “You know, coming from you, that sounds like a compliment.”

“It’s not,” Hajime deadpanned, quickening his pace so Tooru would have to follow him.

“It is.” Tooru’s voice was layered with annoyance, but he increased his stride to catch up to his partner. Hajime felt a little balloon of satisfaction inflate in his chest. “I pride myself on my ability to annoy people.”

The corners of Hajime’s lips turned upwards. “You’re an idiot.”

“Iwa-chan, so mean.” But Tooru was smiling too, because none of Iwa-chan’s grins ever escaped his notice. “I think the real idiot is the monkey who fell out of the tree.”

It felt like many lifetimes had passed between now and the day that Hajime had fallen off of his branch. That collision had fractured Tooru’s ribs, thus resulting in mandatory separation from Hajime at the hands of Tooru’s parents. It took several weeks of hysterics to allow them back in a thirty-foot radius of one another, and even longer until they were allowed in the same room.

It was strange, to think of being far from Tooru. They were inseparable, two opposing sides of the same coin. Annoying as he could be, Hajime couldn’t imagine being without him. His usual stern features softened as he glanced at Tooru. The other boy appeared lost in thought, his face the picture of dreamy musing.

It was comfortably quiet as they walked, the peace broken only by the telltale buzz of suburban life - a laughing child, the rumble of a car engine, the chirp of a sparrow.

Tooru cleared his throat, broaching the silence with a slow sort of hesitance. “You know… I used to think I was destined to be assaulted, or something. Because of my marks.”

Hajime didn’t speak for a moment. Some subjects were tougher to talk about than others; Tooru’s relatively lonely childhood, the sensitivity of his parents. There were times when Hajime didn’t know whether to handle Tooru seriously or with the same level of apathy he reserved for teasing. He opted for both.

“I know.” Hajime’s voice was soft, and he threw a grin Tooru’s way. “Sorry to disappoint, dumbass.”

Tooru responded with a sunny side-smile. His hand nudged Hajime’s, and their fingers intertwined. “Oh, I am so very disappointed.”

Tooru’s palm was smooth. Their fingers wove together perfectly, cinched like lock and key. Hajime squeezed Tooru’s hand. The warmth in his chest didn’t match his next words.

“If you want, I’ll beat you up. Want to fight?”

Tooru laughed outright. “You’d never.”

Hajime didn’t acknowledge the simple truth of this statement, the confidence with which Tooru said it. He shrugged instead. “You’ve got nothing to offer, anyway.”

“Just my sweet, virgin body.” Tooru’s voice was singsong, and Hajime almost choked. His cheeks flushed violently.

“Please shut up. I’m begging you.”

A grin spread across Tooru’s face, wide and toothy, but he obligingly changed the subject. “You really could’ve been a mugger, Iwa-chan. You’ve got a scary face.”

To accentuate his point, Tooru tugged underneath his eyes, an impression that Hajime guessed what supposed to be him. Instead, it gave the illusion that Tooru’s face was melting.

Hajime shifted his attention to the road, face still aflame. “You’re so ugly.”

“I have many charms, Iwa-chan, you liar.” Tooru’s entire body shook with his laughter. “But if a mugger did hurt my pretty face, I’d look like you, and then we’d both be sad.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Hajime huffed a laugh. “I guess we’re lucky that I didn’t turn out to be a mugger, right?”

Tooru hummed in response, but a small smile graced his lips. “Very lucky.”

Hajime looked at him then, really looked, and something tightened in his chest. The late afternoon sun bounced off of Tooru’s tousled locks, alighting little strips of it in tarnished gold. His eyes were the same chocolatey color as his hair, and they stared straight ahead, clouded as they were when Tooru was thinking.

He had joked about the mugging, but in truth, Hajime did feel badly about how Tooru had spent a significant portion of his childhood - locked away from the world, left with a volleyball and hairspray for company.

Sometimes, Hajime felt like it was his fault. It haunted him like a nightmare, the abandonment Tooru had felt in his early life. When it was late at night and Tooru was asleep in the house opposite his, Hajime replayed the events that occurred after Tooru’s injury. He remembered the loneliness, the fear of not being able to see his soulmate again, or perhaps even worse: not being able to see his best friend.

Hajime knew that the fault wasn’t his, not really. It was Tooru’s parents, for one, because of their ridiculous notion that Tooru’s marks could only be triggered by abuse. And spiritually speaking, the fault lay with fate - it was fate who had dealt the cards, fate that had knocked Hajime out of the tree that day like a kamikaze, fate that had placed Tooru under the tree like an airport landing strip.

Hajime wanted to take that lonely past from him. In a way, he supposed he had the moment he’d landed on the child’s chest. Maybe even before, when they’d spent their days writing notes and tossing volleyballs over the fence.

It could be said that it was Tooru’s own idiocy that led him to cloud-watch under the tree, but that would be challenging fate, and Hajime was somewhat fond of the idea that the universe had put them together for a reason. He was stuck with a moron, but destiny had decided that this was his moron, and he loved him.

He loved him.

Hajime was about to say so when his thoughts were interrupted by Tooru, who had chosen that moment to sidle up against him.

“You think about it sometimes, don’t you?” Tooru bumped him gently. “I do, too.”

Hajime gave him a strange look. “Stop reading my mind.”

“Hajime.” Tooru’s grin was mischievous, but his eyes were soft. “If you really think about it, it’s your fault for picking such a brutish way to introduce yourself.”

“Don’t say stupid things with a friendly face,” Hajime sighed through his nose. “It’s annoying.”

“I’m just saying,” Tooru wiggled his fingers in his soulmate’s face. “If you thought I was cute, you should’ve just said.”

Hajime said nothing. Instead, he snatched Tooru’s hand out of the air and kissed his knuckles. Any haughtiness left in Tooru’s attitude melted away at his partner’s touch, and Hajime hummed. “It’s your fault for laying on the ground like a living target.”

They were quiet again, and then: “You know, I’m really glad you broke my ribs that day.”

Hajime snorted. Tooru had the uncanny ability to turn any moment of softness into something remarkably unromantic. He lightly shoved him, and Tooru backpedaled with a squeal. “You only fractured one, and stop bringing it up, for the love of-”

“Shy, Iwa-chan?” Tooru chuckled. He composed himself far too quickly, Hajime thought, for someone so shameless. “I will forever be grateful for my boyfriend’s roughness. He’s so manly-”

Hajime jerked Tooru’s hand. His partner stumbled forward, but he was laughing, utterly carefree. “Oi, be a little more appropriate, we’re in public, you-”

“Who says we can’t be raunchy, _Hajime_?” Tooru batted his eyelashes innocently, his voice adopting a sultry tone that made the hair on Hajime’s arms stand up.

Hajime wanted to turn to his partner and berate him - “not now, we’re in the middle of the street, you prick,” - but when he looked at Tooru, his smile was genuine. His eyes glowed, and the sun was setting behind him, and he was just so beautiful-

Hajime loved him. He loved him so much that he couldn’t fathom an existence without him; so much that simply giving Tooru his heart wasn’t enough. Though their marks had faded long ago, they were bound. The red string that linked them would never knot or snap.

His partner owned half of his soul, half of his entire being, and in that moment, Hajime showed him.

Hajime tugged on his partner’s collar, and his hands slipped down the smooth plane of Tooru’s sides to rest on his hips as he drew him in. Their faces were inches apart, Tooru’s eyes blazing in the late afternoon sun. Hajime’s heart stuttered at the sight of that gaze, the gaze that mirrored all of the want in his own.

Tooru’s face bent down to Hajime’s in slow motion, like a dream, blurred; as if both still couldn’t believe that this was reality, that they were allowed to want each other, to have each other. Their eyelids fluttered closed, and any leftover iota of thought fled them as Hajime felt Tooru’s mouth close over his.

No matter how many times their lips met, the touch electrified Hajime. His world exploded into shards of molten light, his heart soared. Hajime’s grip tightened across Tooru’s shoulders, their mouths hungry, melded together as they were meant to be.

The kiss was urgent, searing, a wildfire. Hajime relished in the sensation - the stoppage of time, the brief absence of smartass commentary. He clung to Tooru, held on for his life.

Their kisses were always like this, as unpredictable and vexatious as Oikawa Tooru was himself. Tooru’s personality was not necessarily something to be desired, but the pair were so in tune with each other that Hajime found he could never - _would_ never - let him go.

They stood there for awhile, joined silhouettes before the setting sun. Their hands traveled, mussing the spikes of Hajime’s hair and Tooru’s quaffed locks alike. They only broke when Tooru stuttered a gasp, and when they pulled apart, a thread of spit still connected them. It broke and fell, slapping a line of wetness across Hajime’s volleyball jacket.

Hajime eyed the line of spit as if it had just insulted his mother.

“I suppose you can do nothing elegantly, Iwa-chan,” Tooru laughed, breathless, his voice was unsteady, heavy. His cheeks carried a dusty blush, and his lips were bruised and slick.

With no small amount of effort, Hajime resisted the urge to reach out and pull him in once more. He turned towards the road instead, grunting noncommittally. “Save the raunchiness for later.”

Tooru squawked at the unexpected admission, his flush deepening. He batted at Hajime’s arm. “Hajime! You can’t just say saucy things like that! I was so unprepared!”

Hajime chuckled outright, passed his boyfriend a glance. Despite the vicious blush creeping up his neck, Tooru was watching him with tenderness, his gaze raw and open and shining, a gleam that only came from loving and being loved.

Gone was the marked boy with black imprints in his chest - replaced long ago by a young man who was not only unmarked but successful, talented, and happy. Hajime felt another tug in his chest, one both painful and full of pride. Tooru was his, just as Hajime was Tooru’s, and no amount of meddling or fear could stop fate from bringing them together.

Studying his soulmate’s face, Tooru cocked his head, his tone softer than usual. “What are you thinking about, Hajime?”

There was another pause, and then wordlessly, Hajime extended his hand towards his partner. A dream, an offer, and a promise.

Smiling, Tooru reached out and took it. He knit their fingers together, giving Hajime’s hand a squeeze. “Yeah. I love you, too.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving behind only wispy streaks of pink clouds. A handful of scattered street lights buzzed to life, lighting up the semi-darkness like torches in a passageway. Far above, the stars winked into existence.

Linked as they were, Tooru and Hajime followed the trail of light home.

**Author's Note:**

> the akuma: "a malevolent fire spirit in Japanese folklore. It is often translated to devil in English, or demon. Akuma is the name assigned to Satan in Japanese Christianity."
> 
> I headcanon so much that I don't even know what's canon anymore. This is my first work, so I'd love to hear what you think! thank you for reading! <3
> 
> EDIT 2/8/2019: recently edited and reposted! :)
> 
> talk to meeee  
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/dekusneakers?lang=en)  
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